


Grief

by Enby_Baby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, Past Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Sad Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Whump, Season/Series 13, Season/Series 13 Spoilers, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25723753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enby_Baby/pseuds/Enby_Baby
Summary: Lucifer is dead. It should be a good thing.So why does Sam still feel so empty?((A look into Sam's feelings in 13x23))
Relationships: Lucifer/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: Supernatural





	Grief

The church is quiet.

An eerie silence disturbed only by the reminisce of his brothers' shout, ‘We had a deal!’ though that too has begun to fade leaving only the soft, silent, nothing. He doesn’t hear the unsteady thumping of his heart, nor the ragged gasps of his breathing, he doesn’t flinch at the hand that lands on his shoulder and doesn't need to look behind him to know it’s Jack.

He should make sure the nephilim is okay, treat his self-inflicted wound, make sure he knows that everything will be alright. He should… he knows he should, but he can’t pull his eyes away from the body lying mere inches in front of him.

He half expects those cold blue eyes to open, those fingers to twitch, that head to turn towards him with a sadistic grin and an even worse laughter. It doesn’t. There’s no taunts, no barely veiled threats, no indication of any such thing--just silence. So what is this voice in his head telling him that he’s still not free, that he’ll never be free.

“Sam?”

A murmur from behind him, Jack sounds afraid. Still Sam can’t quite pull his eyes away, can’t make himself turn towards his son’s distress, his lips part as though to speak but only a puff of air follows. A part of him wants to tell the kid that everything is alright, that they’re going to be fine-- the rest of him knows that to be a lie.

Dean is gone, and that thought alone brings up a grief that still barely cuts through the fog of nothing sitting over his very soul. He should get moving, figure out a way to get his brother back, to stop the new threat to their world. He doesn’t move.

“I’ll pray to Cas,” Jack tries softly upon realizing he wouldn’t be getting a response, “he’ll find us.”

Still no response. Sam hears the young boy move away from him, isn’t sure if he’s still in the room or if he’d gone outside, not that it matters at the moment. 

Sam should get up, figure out where they are, give Cas some way to track them so he can come get them. Castiel couldn’t fly, hadn’t been able to for a while, he should make sure Jack can survive long enough for the angel to drive down to wherever here is. He finally moves.

However, instead of getting up like that part of his mind screams at him to do, he reaches out. His fingers brush the floor, where the burnt imprints of wings span the expanse of the room. Large, once glorious, now merely ash on the ground. Sam rubs it between his fingers, he swears momentarily to feel the cold of Lucifer’s grace within the cinders though that quickly fades along with everything else. His hands move further until they are touching fabric, stained with a sticky red. Sam can see the archangel blade piercing through the beings heart, it’s practically on repeat in his mind. He pulls back momentarily as his fingers brush the still warm blood steadily drying on his chest.

‘Odd,’ Sam can’t help but think, ‘I don’t think i’ve ever seen the devil bleed.’

The thought almost makes him chuckle, it dies on his tongue. The blood is warm and Sam hates the way it feels as it squishes between his fingers, still he doesn’t pull his hand away immediately. Soon enough however his hand is travelling even further up of its own accord, gently caressing the stubbled jaw of whoever this vessel had been, not that it matters, to Sam this would always be Lucifer. Sam studies the way red streaks over the vessel's cheekbone as he trails it, similar to how Lucifer would touch him, with deceptively loving brushes that broke down any and all of his defenses, Sam quickly pulls his hand away at the thought.

His eyes are closed, a part of Sam wants to pry them open. To see that icy blue one more time, watch as it fogged over until there was no life left within them. Sam wants to, but part of him knows once he does that he’ll be lost forever.

The church door opens again, Sam hears Jack come up behind him, can practically see the nephilims worried eyes taking in the scene, “I prayed to Castiel, he’ll be here soon.”

Sam manages a small noise of acknowledgement, letting his eyes trace the once magnificent devil one more time. He wants to remember, wants this image burned into his very brain, even though he doesn’t quite know why.

“Sam, are you okay?”

Sam smiles softly, it’s a sad, pathetic little thing but he does so anyway, “We’ll be okay Jack… We’ll be okay.”

It doesn’t take long before the sound of a car pulling up interrupts the silence, Lucifer must not have taken them far. Footsteps come in through the door and Sam hears Castiel’s gruff voice as he talks to Jack, looking the boy over and probably healing the worst of his wounds.

“Sam,” he recognizes the sound of his mother's voice, soft and familiar though it brings no comfort with it, her hand lands on his shoulder and Sam takes in a deep breath.

Before she can say anything else he pulls himself to his feet, knees wobbling beneath him but standing strong. He ignores his mother and turns towards the exit, finally pulling his eyes away from the deceased archangel, he says nothing as Castiel questions him.

He’s numb as he walks out of the building, numb as they drive back to the bunker, numb as he listens to Jack recount what had happened, and numb as they arrive back home.

Sam is the first out of the car, ignoring the hunters he passes that give him worried looks. He retreats to his room, before he had even made it down the hallway however, Castiel’s voice pipes up behind him.

“We’ll find Dean, Sam,” his voice is gruff as usual, a barely there concern just underneath the otherwise monotone, “We will get him back.”

Sam pauses, doesn’t look over his shoulder, “I know.”

It’s all he says before he escapes to his bedroom. The room is thrown into darkness as the door shuts behind him, yet he doesn’t move to turn the light on. 

The room is quiet.  
  
Sam crumbles.

His legs give out beneath him, as soon as he hits the floor that numbness coursing through his very veins dissipates and leaves him with a broken sort of grief. He sobs, bites off a scream, his very soul aches so much he feels the need to tear it out. He can’t, knows it’s not possible, yet his fingers dig into his chest anyhow, he doesn’t stop until his nails have drawn blood, seeping through his already stained and tattered shirt, the pain fades quickly and Sam hardly feels it past the throbbing of his battered soul.

He feels cold, and even that feels so very wrong. 

‘We’ll find Dean. Dean is okay. Dean is still alive.’

He forces these thoughts through his head, forces them to block out the agonizing need burning through his core. He feels empty, incomplete. He tells himself it’s because of Dean.

There's a part of him, a part he refuses to recognize because that means truly losing himself, truly breaking. This part of him knows it’s not Dean who he is grieving.

**Author's Note:**

> More Sam whump, I will never get tired of writing these things! Sam is such a beautiful character, especially when he suffers, I wish the show would give him more storylines.


End file.
